Betrayals
by duj
Summary: WIP, edited to be HBPcompatible. The Gryffindor gits came in then, followed closely by Slughorn, and the lesson started. They were preparing the base for Eckhart's Elixir today...
1. Betrayals

BETRAYALS

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers, knowledge assumed, edited to fit HBP canon. ****Canon never tells us the inner workings of Snape's mind so we're free to posit different versions. Here's one possible take on his recruitment as a spy.**

The boy stood in the headmaster's office, hiding as usual behind a curtain of greasy black hair. All that could be seen of his face was the tip of a large hooked nose.

Professor Dumbledore's chair was pushed away from his desk. He looked up with a gentle smile.

"You wanted to see me, Mr Snape?"

There was no answering smile, only a lengthening silence. Then a rough, hoarse cry, "I can't do this anymore!" and the boy began rolling up his left sleeve. On the pale, smooth skin was an ugly, black brand of a snake-tongued skull. The Dark Mark.

The headmaster forgot to twinkle. One hand clenched on the arm of his chair as his suddenly-narrowed eyes locked on to the Death Eater sign of his allegiance on his student's arm.

"When?" he demanded.

Thin lips trembled then tightened.

"Last December."

An in-drawn breath. The man leaned forward.

"December? Before or after Mr Black's prank?" Blue eyes tried unavailingly to see behind the stringy hair.

That has nothing to do with it!" the boy snapped, his head half-rearing. Then he shrugged and stared at the floor, blinking rapidly. His Adams apple bobbed several times. "After."

The man slumped, silver hair and beard seeming to quiver.

"Oh, my child, my poor child. What have I done to you?"

Hard, defiant, black eyes looked at him for the first time in months.

"Why should you think you have anything to with it? As if I care enough to be affected by what you do."

The headmaster watched him with sad sympathy.

"My proud angry boy," he murmured, reaching out a hand. Suddenly the younger flung himself into his arms, sobbing into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Don't blame yourself, it's just me. I'm evil and hateful and – They were right about me. I deserved to die. Should have let Loopy eat me!"

"Oh, my dear child." Dumbledore patted the greasy hair and wrapped his other arm around the boy's thin trembling frame. How had it come to this? In trying to save one boy had he doomed the other?

"What shall I do with you?" he wondered as the shaking body stilled.

Young Severus looked up at him with wide surprised eyes.

"Give me up for Azkaban, of course. What else can you do?" He wiped his nose on his hand, sniffing. "It won't be so bad losing my good memories," he added, twisting his mouth into a would-be smile. "I don't have many anyhow."

The other winced and held him tighter, but after a moment he extricated himself and hunched against the desk, wrapping his arms around his skinny chest.

Dumbledore closed his eyes and opened them again.

"There's only one alternative," he pronounced judgement. "You could become our spy."

"Spy? You mean betray my friends?" They hadn't been very good friends but they were the only ones he'd had. His voice trembled. "I'd rather just go to Azkaban."

"Child, did it not occur to you that you'd be interrogated under Veritaserum? You've no choice but to betray your friends – unless you can bite your tongue off. And then they'd probably get a special order permitting them to Imperio you. They will have the truth one way or another."

"Oh. I should have just mixed up some poison, shouldn't I? Put myself to sleep forever."

The boy gulped as his agile brain catalogued toxins. What was fast-acting and irreversible that was quick to brew or could be stolen from the infirmary? Why had he been such a fool as to come here? Coward!

"You – you won't let me go away and do that, will you? Please?"

The headmaster bit hard on his lower lip. It was the first time he'd ever heard that proud private boy plead. His throat burned on his reply.

"I can't. You know I can't do that. It's everyone's duty and responsibility to do whatever they can to defeat Voldemort -"

Severus flinched.

"Yours too," Dumbledore finished. He watched heavy lids veil those black eyes that had burned imploringly into his a moment ago. Then the boy turned his face away.

"You can't expect that of me. You can't!" he muttered.

"I expect nothing," came the reply.

Behind the hair a young face closed. _You never did expect anything of me, did you? I'm only a Slytherin._ The accusation went unspoken. The headmaster continued, unknowing.

"It's your choice. Betray your friends of your own will and work secretly to defeat Voldemort -" Again the listener flinched at the name."Or not of your will and rot in Azkaban. Only you can decide."

If the boy had looked up he might have seen the genuine sorrow in those blue eyes and understood. He didn't.

"I'll give you half an hour to think before I call the Aurors. You'd better hand over your wand now," the old voice continued with steady implacability.

Severus pulled out his wand and stared at it for a moment, then jerked the point to his chest.

"Avada kedavra."

The room lit with a sickly green light and the wand slipped from senseless fingers. A violent shudder and the boy opened his eyes to see the headmaster sitting as still as stone. His voice turned sullen.

"You didn't even try to stop me."

"I knew you didn't have the will to wish yourself dead," the old man replied gravely, stooping however to snatch the wand to the safety of his own hands before the boy could try a more creative solution. Obliviate himself, perhaps, or use a slicing hex on his tongue. "You've half an hour to consider. Choose wisely."

Severus rocked back on his heels and stared at his hands. He was as trapped as ever. He looked across the years into a dim decades-ahead future, seeing himself still vainly trying to break free. If he were a spy he'd have a tiny chance. If he went to Azkaban he'd have none.

"No need. I'll do whatever I have to. Spy if that's your will," he spat. "Till I'm dead and forgotten." And the sooner the better.

**A/N There's no absolute evidence as to when the werewolf incident occurred, except that Snape was sixteen. As his birthday has now been revealed as Jan 9 and JK has said the cut-off for Hogwarts entry is Sept 1, it must have happened before Jan 9 of his sixth year.**

**HBP-canon suggests that Snape didn't begin spying until some years after graduating from Hogwarts, after Voldemort had already heard the prophecy and chosen Harry as the child in question. The two timelines will be reconciled eventually, but I won't explain till I get there.**

******This is a different version of Snape than you may be used to, an abused lonely boy whose decisions came from his heart rather than his head. How did he develop into the calculating controlled Potions-Master of canon? And was Dumbledore's offer a gift or a curse?**

Behind the twinkle and the amiable waffle, Dumbledore can be quite ruthless - as he needs to be. In canon, he tends to put war considerations above school considerations, such as student safety. He wouldn't hand over a Death Eater student to Azkaban, but he presumably trusts the Aurors who have joined the Order. Yet perhaps he should have made his intentions clearer to them...


	2. A rational decision

BETRAYALS

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers, knowledge assumed**

Severus crouched, half-sitting, rubbing his bare inner left forearm against the only rough spot on the wall of his cell. The room was dark. His thoughts were darker.

Rub, rub, rub. He had scratched off the top layer of skin in a misshapen elongated diamond stretching from the base of his thumb to just above the funny bone. With each pass of his arm it throbbed more but it was still nowhere near the remembered burning when the brand had been imprinted or when it had called him to a meeting. His wrist was starting to bleed. He rubbed harder.

Too late now. He couldn't take it back, not any of it. Couldn't undo the Dark Mark, couldn't unsay his confession, couldn't unlive his life. All too late.

Was it only two days ago that he'd wept in the headmaster's arms?

It felt like a dream. It must have been a dream. Dumbledore didn't even like him much. He'd had that confirmed a year ago after Black and Potter had tried to kill him by werewolf and got off without even a suspension. Yes, the man's eyes twinkled blue as a summer sky, untroubled and expansive, but only Gryffindors could bask in that sun.

Severus closed his eyes. If it was a dream, then why could he still feel those strong arms around him, still hear the rhythm of that heart under his wet cheek, still remember the warmth of that old body against him? For one brief interlude, he'd believed the man would make everything right, would save him from the consequences of his sins, just as he'd saved those two gits. For one moment.

One moment that taught him that all his animosity, all his scorn of the silver-haired old man, had been pretense. He didn't despise him, he didn't hate him; he longed for him, desperately wanted the grandfatherly care the man lavished on his tormentors.

What a fool he was! And now his friends were going to pay for it. The only people who'd ever accepted his company except as a target.

Rub, rub, rub. His arm was red and raw now with long bleeding scratches and scraped-off skin. It blotted out the ache of bruises and sprains, the hot fizz of a split lip and black eye.

The Aurors had interrogated him with and without Veritaserum and raked through his mind with Legilimens. Then they'd used their new knowledge to try to goad him into babbling fury. Words had been interspersed with blows – but what were blows to him? Only the comforting familiarity of rough angry hands on bare skin. It was words that hurt, words and the humiliation of having every private wish picked over and mocked.

He had no friends now. He'd betrayed them. Spilled out their secrets and broadcast their confidences to a roomful of enemies. He'd blabbed how Rab had decided to one-up Dolph by joining while still in school and had persuaded all his friends to follow: Wilkesie and Evan and Severus himself. Sev and Ev they'd been once, back in first year till they outgrew nicknames and each other and went their separate ways. So it was Ev he'd approached for guidance last December, when he'd decided to take the plunge.

They'd all been anticipating seventh year then. Of course they'd been planning for their futures in an outside world that seemed likely to be as biased against Slytherins as Hogwarts was. He'd thought he was making a rational decision to align himself with those who offered revenge on his enemies and advancement for himself.

He knew better now. It had just been wounded pride and anger and spiteful need to hurt the silver-haired headmaster in any way he could. And it had hurt the man. He should be glad at least there was one thing he hadn't failed at.

Not like Death Eating.

Logically, if the others helped you with your revenge, it followed that you'd have to help with theirs. That made sense; how else could it be? But Severus had discovered with painful surprise that he couldn't. Couldn't torture no-names who'd never done anything to him, couldn't punish Muggles whose only fault was their existence. He could feign it right enough, but it sickened him. Yes, he could joy in battle, hex and counter-hex a standing opponent or an enemy of his own, but he hated to harm wandless strangers.

He'd argued with himself. Told himself he was a weakling, a sook, a sissy, reminded himself that they were all his enemies, for Merlin's sake! If he switched places with them they wouldn't hesitate to hurt him good and proper! And then he'd thought about doing this for the rest of his life and he knew: he couldn't, he just couldn't.

Rub, rub, rub. It was still there. It would always be there.

If only he hadn't given in to that wild idea that Dumbledore might help him! When you come to the end of the road, stop. And when you can't live with yourself, don't. There were half-a dozen painless poisons he could have brewed using only the ingredients in his school Potions kit; half a hundred if he pinched from his teacher's office. He should have drunk one rather than rat on his friends.

If he'd known Dumbledore would trap him into this, he'd have died first. Wouldn't he? Or was he just too craven, a weak-kneed, lily-livered, sniveling wimp? After all, he hadn't been able to Avada himself when the time came.

No, that was different. He'd have needed to want to die to make that work. He'd been willing to die to save his friends, but he hadn't wanted it. Even now he didn't really want it, not if there was any choice. Not if there was anywhere else to go.

It was too late for his death to save them and to die now when the damage was done? There didn't seem much point. It was as useless as trying to scrub the Dark Mark off his arm. He slumped against the wall and let the tears of blood drip slowly to the floor.

**A/N Originally, I had placed Rodolphus Lestrange and Bellatrix and Narcissa (as the younger) Black at Hogwarts together with Snape, because in GoF, ch 27, "Padfoot returns", Sirius names "the Lestranges - they're a married couple" as part of the "gang of Slytherins" Snape belonged to at school. I'd assumed the anomaly of Tonk's age - her mum is the middle sister - was just a mistake in JK's calculations. **

**However, JK's "Black Family Tree" (donated to Book Aid International in Jan 2006) makes Bellatrix 8 or 9 years older than Snape, in which case she would have left Hogwarts before he even began. Even if the truth is somewhere in between, she wouldn't still be at Hogwarts in Snape's seventh year, when this story is set. I've decided to assume that Rabastan is the younger brother and approximately Snape's age, as there is no evidence to the contrary.**


	3. Their duty

THEIR DUTY

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers, knowledge assumed**

The headmaster stood in Severus's cell, staring at his student with mingled concern and fury.

"What have they done to you?" he breathed.

Severus blinked in the sudden light. He had explored the room by touch, but this was the first time he was seeing it. Walls of polished stone, floor the same, empty except for a pot in one corner and his uneaten porridge in a tin mug: sight added little to his knowledge of it.

"Their duty!" he spat. The headmaster's words of three days ago rang between them. _It's everybody's duty to do what they can to defeat Voldemort.Yours too._ Screwing up his eyes he stared at the floor. Bright, too bright.

The old man could move swiftly when he chose. In one rustling movement, he glided from the door to bend over the hunched, bruised body in the corner. Gentle hands skimmed over the boy, parting his hair, patting him down, pausing at the left arm crusted with dried blood.

"There's nothing here that's beyond my power to fix," Dumbledore murmured.

Severus jerked away, turning his face to the wall. His stiff limbs screamed in protest. It was hours since he'd moved.

"Leave it!" he snapped. "I'm a Death Eater, what did you think they'd do? If we caught one of them you'd be scraping bits off the moon."

His stomach jumped up his throat and he pushed past the other to retch into the chamber pot. They'd had one captive atthe first meeting that summer. There wasn't much left of him by the time it was Severus's turn. He'd wanted to prove himself and had experimented with a Glacis hex on the man's lung. He didn't like to remember what the long glass shards had done to the crumpled chest and he'd had to swallow his vomit and stand tall as men clapped him on the shoulder with rough good humour. Even the Dark Lord had smiled, his snaky features smoothing into approval.

That's what they'd do to him if – when – they found him out. It didn't matter, he deserved it. Yet his fists clenched as his shrunken stomach turned itself inside out over the pot. It was months since he'd been able to keep down anything but toast.

It shouldn't have taken long to empty his gut, but he continued dry retching long after that was over. Long-fingered, wrinkled hands held back his hair, rubbed comforting circles into his back and shoulders. Almost he leaned into the touch, but then he reminded himself this was the man that had put him here without hesitation or apology. They were still on different sides. Even as their spy, he would never be truly a part of the Light.

Afterwards, the old man pulled him into his arms to rest against his shoulder. The silver beard made a scratchy but soft pillow. Too weak to resist, he closed his eyes and dozed, waking ten minutes later with the just-scrubbed feeling of being newly healed. He tried to pull away, but the arms tightened around him and he couldn't move without hurting the man.

"Rest a while longer, child," the soft voice soothed.

He stiffened.

"I'm not a child. I'm seventeen. They'll try me as an adult – if they try me at all."

"There'll be no need for a trial if you're still resolved to spy for us."

As if there was a choice. On one hand, a quiet cell in Azkaban reliving those sickening scenes in his mind, waiting for the Dark Lord to pluck him out at leisure as a night's entertainment and object lesson. On the other, repeating those scenes in real life, waiting for his Lord to pluck him out of the circle upon discovery, etc, etc. There was little difference he could see except –

"They won't be able to arrest my friends if I'm spying." Not his friends anymore, not his friends, he'd betrayed them. But what else could he call them? "That would break my cover and then I'd be useless." Not to mention dead and broken into a thousand bleeding squishy pieces.

"Not at first. Not unless your companions put themselves in the way of discovery."

Companions. Was that what they were now? Just people he met on the road and traveled with for a day?

He wrenched himself free and sat with his legs folded in front of him and his back to the wall. Despite himself, his thin lips twitched into a brief half-smirk. Only Dumbledore would sit on the floor of a prison cell in aqua silk robes patterned with pink and gold cherubs. Ev would have made a wisecrack about their revered head belonging on a naming-cake, Wilkesie would have rolled his eyes and Rab's cheeks would have got redder and redder till he let out his firecracker laugh.

Not mere companions, he'd known them too long and too well. Had smeared home-brewed salve on raw hands after Herbology lessons, stayed up nights studying how to transfigure butterbeer to firewhiskey, flown tandem till he finally learnt to control his broom. He knew exactly what they'd have said and thought, what hexes they'd eventually use the night he lay, revealed and shivering, in front of them.

Crucio from Rab. Possibly on his kneecaps, if too many had been before him with the same spell, but more likely on his eyes. He wasn't very creative, but that was his sister-in-law's favourite. Bella had a particular fondness for Crucioing eyes and Dolph and Rab would copy her choice. They always did.

Wilkesie would slice his fingers off, one half-joint at a time, and Ev would stare at him for a long farewell moment then shrug up his broad shoulders and Diffindo his neck in one last act of friendship. Once his spinal cord was severed he wouldn't feel what they did to most of the rest of him. He hoped Ev would get first turn.

He blinked, once, twice and again. His eyes were burning and his throat ached. If he'd had his wand he'd have conjured a spring of clear water to drink from and to dip his head into. He had no wand.

"Who hit you?" the headmaster asked, a hint of steel in his pleasant voice.

Severus shrugged. His head was muzzy and talking in full sentences seemed too much work.

"Quiet one held me first. One with bits missing raped my mind. Guess he did most of the punching." His eyes closed and he needed a gigantic yawn to force them open again. "Does it matter? Just doing their job, weren't they?"

"It's not their job to treat you so roughly."

"It's their job to find every scrap of information they can drag out of me however they can!" he snarled, anger lending him temporary strength. "Do you think I'm stupid? Would they weigh my bruises against saving lives? Would you?" You didn't, did you? That's why I'm here.

They have to fight Death Eaters, not become them."

"Not much difference is there? They'll use the darkest hexes they're allowed on us, same as we do on them. Only difference is what orders come down from the top." He glowered through his greasy curtain of hair at the headmaster who was shaking his head in disagreement. "Don't pretend you don't know that. Threatened me with Imperio in your office, didn't you? Told me they'd get an order letting them use it if I chewed off my tongue. Remember that?"

"I remember. But they don't joy in using Unforgivables, even against Death Eaters. It's a last resort."

Severus just closed his eyes and shook his head. Dumbledore hadn't seen the triumph in the old Auror's eye as his fist crashed down. Given the chance the man would joy in a Crucio quite as much as Bella. He was sure of it.

**A/N Although the Lestranges are out of school and married, Snape thinks of them familiarly here as Bella and Dolph, rather than as Mr and Mrs Lestrange, since (according to Sirius, GoF, ch 27, "Padfoot Returns") they had been part of the "gang of Slytherins" Snape was friends with at school.**


	4. Old Enough to Stand

OLD ENOUGH TO STAND

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers**

It was amazing how much taller Albus Dumbledore seemed when he was angry. Even his silver hair and beard seemed to radiate a fierce energy. He turned stern eyes to his former pupil and longtime friend.

"You beat him, Alastor!"

Auror Alastor Moody shrugged, unabashed. His greying hair frizzed around his scarred face like moss on a sharp-edged rock. They were standing in the empty corridor outside the holding cells. It was as good a place as any for a private chat, better than the open cubicle several floors up that served him as an office. His head twisted every few seconds, peering this way and that to check for eavesdroppers, but his eyes, small, dark and beady, kept returning to Albus. He glared back.

"Course I did, the little snake," he retorted. "Blasted Death Eater."

The headmaster frowned.

"When did you start torturing people for information?" Why didn't I know?

"It wasn't torture, just a little rough-housing to loosen his tongue." _Didn't permanently damage him. Not as if I loosened his teeth._ "If I shed a bit of his blood to save a lot of innocent blood, where's the problem in that?"

That was what Severus had said, in different words. Albus felt sick. Had he taught them so badly?

"You're thinking like a Death Eater."

"I'm doing my job. Every Dark Wizard caught is one less killer on the loose. Shame he's too small-fry to know much though."

"Your job is to defend children, not to hurt them."

Moody's gash of a mouth split in a satisfied smirk.

"He's no child, he's seventeen. Old enough to stand trial."

"Barely. He was only sixteen when he joined," Albus reminded him.

"Wasn't too young to kill and torture. We've got him as accessory to three murders and one of them was young Elsegood. Worth fifty of this little reptile any day," Alastor spat.

Albus flinched and bent his head in a brief moment of remembrance. Just three years out of school and freshly qualified as an Auror, Paddy Elsegood, a fresh-faced openhearted boy with a ready smile, had been captured on his first assignment. His severed eyeless head had been dumped in a bucket outside the Ministry building two days later, its features distorted from screaming. The Muggle who found it had been Obliviated.

"Glacised his lung, he told me, wanted to see what would happen!" Moody's face creased in disgust and his eyes blazed. "Would have liked to kill him myself for that if we hadn't needed him alive to answer questions!"

The boy had been in no danger. The Auror was not a man to act on a moment's impulse. Besides, death was too good for those Hell-spawn, in his opinion. Let them suffer a lifetime in Azkaban instead.

The headmaster's lips thinned to a hard straight line.

"Listen to yourself, Alastor!" he urged sharply. "Your duty is justice, not revenge."

"Revenge on Death Eaters is justice."

"When you use their tactics you lose yourself. Their weapon is hatred. Choose it and you start to become one of them."

Moody leaned forward, throwing his weight on the clawed wooden table-leg that had replaced his own.

"Nonsense!" he replied impatiently. "I'm protecting what's important and they're destroying it."

Albus sighed. Echoes of Bartemius Crouch, Minister for Magical Law Enforcement. He'd been arguing this very point with him for months.

"From their point of view they're protecting and you're destroying."

"Who cares what Death Eaters think? Murderers and villains. They were born evil." Crouch's very words.

"Not born, made! They're still human, Alastor. They have hearts that can feel and eyes that can learn to see."

Even Tom must have been an innocent boy once, Albus knew, before he began moulding himself into Lord Voldemort, scourge of Muggle-borns and Half bloods. He'd had a heart that could bleed for his Muggle father's rejection, eyes that had tired of looking for anything but power. His Death Eaters too had made wrong choices, but they could still choose again even now. To serve him or betray him. To die fighting or screaming.

Moody was shaking his head.

"You wouldn't say that if you stood in a burnt-out house sweeping up the leavings after one of their torture-parties. Five entire families killed in the last three months, Albus, five! And it's getting worse." He punched one hand with the other. "You're too soft on them. You still see them as your children, children you taught and cared about and worried over. But I see what they're capable of every day. They're beyond saving, rotten to the core the lot of them!"

"No one is beyond saving." Not if they want it; not if they truly want to change.

"You can't save them. Don't know why you'd even want to try."

Albus listened with a heavy heart. Alastor was making choices too, choices he didn't much like, but they'd resume this argument at a more opportune time. They had arrangements to make and soon, before his friend was missed and someone came in search of him.

"I can save this one and I will," he said quietly. "His heart is stronger than his hate, it led him back to me." Who'd have expected a Death Eater to have more heart than an Auror? But Severus was a novice, not yet battle-hardened to callousness.

"You're wasting your pity," Moody warned. "He's not worth it. We should charge him and his friends immediately. Clear out that snakes-nest of Slytherin seventh years and stop them recruiting anyone else."

"No, I refuse to waste him on Azkaban." The headmaster's voice took on a note of steely command. "He has brains and ability and he's already in place. We'll never have a better chance to plant a sleeper. He can rise up the ranks till he can bring them down from the inside. And in the meantime he may be able to warn us of attacks in time to stop them."

The younger man snorted.

"Do you really think that little worm is either capable or trustworthy?"

"I've no doubt he's both."

Moody raised a sceptical eyebrow but he didn't argue. He might be an Auror, but he was also a member of the Order of the Phoenix, a secret group dedicated to supplementing Ministry action and correcting Ministry mistakes. Albus was the Head of the Order, Moody's Commander-in-Chief.

"As you choose. The risk is small enough. He knows that if he tries to betray us, they'll kill him for having wavered. If he dies anyway, we won't be much worse off and we'll still have whatever information he's given us till then," he reflected. "It'll have to be unofficial though. Crouch would never approve it and, anyway, the less who know the better."

Their eyes met. Albus nodded.

"I can cover it up this end," Moody continued. "I haven't filed an interrogation report yet and I won't. I'll see about Dawlish and Foster. Best thing would be to move their memories to a dissolving Pensieve, have them forget they ever saw him." He'd tell them just enough of the truth to make them agree. _Top secret._ He was their superior officer; they'd trust his word. "What about your end? Who else knows?"

"No one. I transfigured a replica; it's lying in an isolation unit in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, supposedly bitten by a Dormis beetle. I told Poppy that Fawkes had led me to where the boy lay in the Forbidden Forest. No one will expect him to wake or even move for at least another four days."

Moody scratched his chin with a claw-like hand.

"Won't she know?"

"Do you doubt my skill?" Blue eyes twinkled under silver brows. "She can't get near enough to check. Standard treatment for Dormis bites is protective enclosure in a symbio-box till the victim regains consciousness. I'll smuggle him in when we're ready."

"We don't have much time to train him. He'll need Occlumency for a start or they'll kill him next time he's called – and since it's only eight days till Xmas break I'd say he'll be called soon." That first meeting, when they took the Mark, had been the only time outside the summer holidays that the seventh years had been called.

"I think it will be enough. I'll take him back today and train him myself. He can stay hidden in my rooms for a few days. And since he was found in the Forbidden Forest," (a smile curled the headmaster's lips) "no one will be surprised if he spends most of next term in detention. That will give us an opportunity to organise the other training he'll need."

His friend grimaced.

"Don't turn your back on him and be careful he doesn't touch anything you eat or drink. And put him in a full body-bind before you go to sleep. Remember, constant vigilance."

"Have you ever let me forget it?"

**A/N ****My earlier version mentioned Moody's magical eye, but according to GoF, ch 30, "The Pensieve", he still had two eyes a few years later at the Death Eater trials. He had already lost the chunk from his nose and Harry didn't notice any differences except the eye, so I felt free to assume Moody's other injuries pre-dated this story. I've judged Moody's character from his comments at the trial and from his double's teaching days (since nobody found his behaviour out of character.)**


	5. A Brilliant Student

A BRILLIANT STUDENT

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers, knowledge assumed.**

Severus stood a little dazed in the headmaster's office cradling his wand with trembling hands. Holding it again after three defenseless days was like having a missing hand reattached. He blinked and gulped as Professor Dumbledore finished dropping thoughts into a Pensieve and turned back to address him.

"Have you ever heard of Legilimency or Occlumency?"

Severus shrugged. No, not exactly, but he wasn't stupid.

"Legilimency is what your Auror friend did to me," he declared, recognising the spell he'd heard. "And I suppose Occlumency," _Latin roots occludere, block, and mens, mind,_ "is how to stop it. Why would you want to teach me that?" How could they check his reports if he could block them? Or did the headmaster actually trust him? His heart flip-flopped and began thudding against his ribs. He wasn't sure he trusted himself.

"Riddle is an expert Legilimens -"

"Who's Riddle?" Severus burst out then flushed and bit his lip. "Sir," he added belatedly. This was shaping up to be a lesson. It was a relief to settle back into classroom habits. He could almost pretend the last few days hadn't happened.

Dumbledore sighed.

"Tom Riddle was a student of mine about thirty years ago. He prefers to be known as Lord Voldemort now."

Black eyes grew round with awe.

"You taught the Dark Lord?" the boy breathed. Everyone knew of course that Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald, collaborated with the alchemist Nicholas Flamel and discovered the twelve uses of dragon's blood; it was on the Chocolate Frog cards. But this – this was unbelievable.

"He had to study somewhere." The man stroked his silver beard. "He was a brilliant child, Head Boy too, but lost to the darkness even then."

He hadn't said which house Riddle was sorted into. 'I bet it was Slytherin,' Severus thought scowling. 'That's why he doesn't give us a chance.'

Suddenly his breath caught and his chest felt squeezed and small. He tried to gulp, swallowed the wrong way and wound up coughing. The Dark Lord is a Legilimens?

"He'll know," he breathed numbly when he could speak again. "If he looks at me he'll know straightaway. Are you sending me to die?"

The headmaster's long-fingered hand clenched around his wand and his mouth firmed. Every time he sent anyone on a mission it might end in death. He'd sent too many, but what choice did he have?

"No, not if I can help it. That's why you must master this as soon as possible."

The boy's eyes narrowed to slits. And if he couldn't?

"You promised me a choice that wasn't even in your power to give!" he accused.

"The gift was in my hands. The choice whether to utilise it is yours." Dumbledore's voice was slow and measured. "If he looks before you've learnt to shield he'll know, yes, but who's to say he'll look? If he'd looked at you before, would you even be here?"

Severus gulped and his brow furrowed. One long pale finger rubbed up and down his large nose.

"Maybe. I was still telling myself I'd learn to like it," he admitted, then shuddered. His pale face grew paler and his breath came short and fast. "But maybe he's just waiting till he's in the mood. Maybe I'm to be their Xmas treat."

"Do you wish to draw back?" Dumbledore asked calmly.

"And go to Azkaban?"

Severus had been too locked in horror and self-disgust to think it through when he turned himself in, but he'd had time for reflection since then. He was no safer in Azkaban than at a meeting. He was no safer anywhere. He straightened his shoulders. Better to go fighting than hiding. At least he'd have his wand. His hand tightened unconsciously on the slender stick.

"I – I'd rather be here now preparing for this." His face screwed up. "Do I have any chance?"

"I wouldn't send you if you didn't. You'll have time to grow more expert in the future," Dumbledore reassured him. "For now, you only need to create a substitute memory of this last week to hide the real one behind. If you have any aptitude and you work at it, you should be able to get there."

"But my absence from Hogwarts is suspicious, isn't it? He'll be sure to grill me within an inch of my life."

"Everyone believes that you're lying unconscious in the Hospital Wing with a Dormis bite after having been found in the Forbidden Forest. He won't expect you to remember much of anything." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as merrily as ever.

"The Forbidden Forest? Why on earth would I have gone there?" Severus protested.

"I can't imagine. Listening to Sirius again, perhaps?"

Severus flushed brick red. 'I'm not that stupid,' he wanted to yell, but he'd been stupider, hadn't he? And branded to prove it.

"Are you going to expel me?" he muttered. That was supposed to be the penalty for venturing there.

"No, but the detentions all next term will be splendid cover for your training" the headmaster said placidly. "We'll begin now. I'm going to enter your mind and you may resist me however you choose, with your wand or without it."

Severus looked at him sidelong under lowered brows. He'd always been keener on Dark Arts than Charms, though he was competent at both. Was that an invitation?

"Even with Dark spells?"

"Not if you can stop yourself, but if you let me too deeply in, you may not be able to control what you cast. Face me now. Are you ready? One, two, three, Legilimens."

Memories flashed past like riffling through a deck of cards. Father was collapsing onto the road coming back from the Ministry. Lucine was mocking his grease-pot hair. A werewolf howled at the end of a passage. Black was showering him with cowpats outside Honeydukes. Potter was striping his face red and gold at a Quidditch match. Potter was dangling him upside down as Lupin pretended to read. Potter with Head Boy badge was transfiguring his homework into a swarm of bees –

Then he was blinking at an old wise face framed by silver hair and beard. His heart was racing and his knees buckling under him, but his mouth almost twitched into a smile. He'd known Dumbledore wouldn't want to watch his precious Potter misbehaving.

"You wanted me to see those. You directed me there." The headmaster looked him over with mingled admiration and reproach.

'You never believed me," Severus grumbled.

"You hexed them just as often."

Severus glowered, staring sullenly at the floor. Everyone always assumed he'd thrown the first hex. As if he'd been stupid enough to start a feud when he was so outnumbered.

"This time, try to throw me out yourself, so I can assess the baseline you're starting from. One, two, three, Legilimens."

Mother was coughing blood. Father was hoisting his belt. Lucius was speechifying in the Common Room. His transfiguration teacup grew long arms instead of legs and reached out to strangle him –

He scrunched his eyes shut but it didn't break the connection.

"- Throwing up in the Great Hall at the Graduation Ball, Black's fist breaking his nose on the train, Lily Evans telling him to wash his – _Get out, get out, Expelliarmus!_

He opened his eyes, breathing heavily, his wand raised in white-knuckled defense. Dumbledore's left hand was stretched out grasping his wand by the middle as if he'd grabbed it in mid-air.

"Not bad," the man approved, adjusting his half-moon spectacles that were knocked askew and twinkling over them. "Now close your eyes and clear your mind. Let your emotions go. Be blank and calm."

Black eyes in a white face flickered and closed. Severus gulped. How to be blank and calm when his very bones were shivering?

_Start with breathing. Slow, steady, slower, longer. Now imagery_. He rolled up all his fear, anger, mistrust and shame like rolling up blankets, packing each one into a box then placing the boxes one by one into a vanishing cupboard. Just as he picked up the last one, the cupboard turned inside out, exploding its contents back into his head.

He clenched his teeth. _Breathe. Long deep breaths, loose, calm, let it flow._ _Let it flow out calm as the ocean on a summer's day, clear blue sky, gentle swells, gravel crunching underfoot._ But the wind rose and the waves began to crash into thunderous foam. That wasn't working either.

_Let your emotions go. Be blank and calm. Blank._ An idea niggled at the back of his head.

"Give me a moment sir,' he muttered to forestall an interruption that might derail his train of thought.

Blank. Blank like unused parchment. Not quite. Blank like his third year History essay after Pettigrew had Accioed it and flung it in the lake. By the time he'd reached it all the ink had washed away.

Yes, that was it. He wrote the emotions in large spiky letters, all the rage and despair he'd felt that day, the half-triumphant hope overlaying today's sick terror, all the shame, loneliness, embarrassment, resentment, everything he'd ever felt. Then he dropped it into the water and watched it fade away. _Fade, fade, fainter, fainter, all gone_. His breathing slowed to match and his hands and teeth unclenched. He opened serene black eyes.

"I'm ready, sir."

**Teaser: He hadn't been as ready as he thought…**

**A/N On the assumption that Snape tried to teach Harry as he himself was taught, the similarities with Harry's first Occlumency lesson are deliberate. The difference is less the instructor's patience than the student's attitude. In canon, Snape answered all Harry's questions with a minimum of insult, warned him before every attempt and kept his temper whereas Harry was rude and obstinate, too angry to even try calming himself. **


	6. Picking Through the Memories

PICKING THROUGH THE MEMORIES

**This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers**

Panting and shaken, Severus picked himself up from the floor to face Professor Dumbledore again. He hadn't been as ready as he'd thought. Blanking out his emotions, like words dissolving off a soaked parchment, had shielded his mind against the first attack. Unfortunately, the headmaster was both cunning and experienced and, on the second try, had overprinted a memory of his own.

"James Potter will make an excellent Head Boy. The fact he could shelve such long-standing animosity to save young Snape's life shows pleasing maturity."

That had been enough. The sudden flare of remembering that slap in the face, his enemy rewarded for having second thoughts, boiled off the calm quietude Severus had achieved to leave a brimstone residue of rage, resentment and bitterness. From his sick disbelief at Potter's elevation back to the horror of the werewolf in the tunnel and further back to the humiliation of being stripped in public was a short journey.

Dumbledore had been leisurely picking through the memories, but that one halted him. He broke the spell to stare at the crumpled boy whose composure he'd shattered so easily.

"When did that happen?"

Thin shoulders hunched as an angry young face disappeared behind its curtain of hair.

"During my O.W.L.s." Severus turned his head away and hugged his arms around his chest.

Silver brows lowered over awakened azure eyes. The headmaster rested a steadying hand on his desk.

"I never knew," he apologised.

The boy snorted, still staring at the floor.

"You don't know everything." You only think you do.

The wrinkles deepened in the wise old face. The silver head bent and the overburdened shoulders rounded.

"Why didn't you come to me?"

"So you could blame me for provoking them?" Severus accused.

"Did you -"

"I didn't even know they were there," he huffed. "I existed. That was all the provocation they needed." That was all the reason they'd ever needed.

Dumbledore shook his head. 'That couldn't be right,' he thought. 'Egged on by Sirius and Peter, with Remus perhaps a little shy of restraining their high spirits, young James was over-confident, impatient, a little too pleased with himself sometimes, but he wasn't a bully. He'd never been a bully.'

"Nothing could justify anyone doing that to you – But are you sure it wasn't in response to something you'd said or done, perhaps days earlier?"

Black eyes scorned him. Thin lips tightened almost to invisibility.

"You never listen. Go on then, go ahead and have another look at that one," the boy spat. "Hear it out of Potty's own mouth if you won't hear it out of mine!"

Silence lengthened between them. Severus took a deep shuddering breath and slowly unclenched his fists. He'd steered Dumbledore away from that memory twice, from the glimpse of Potter turning him upside down and from Lily Evans's sharp rejoinder after he rejected her help so rudely. There would be a grim satisfaction in confronting the man with the truth about certain Golden Gryffindors, but he really didn't want to revisit it again. Ever.

He'd thought about obliviating himself. He'd spent long hours pondering whether to obliviate just that memory or everything, restart his life with a blank slate – if that were even possible. But ignorance is weakness and others would remember even if he did not. How could he protect himself if he didn't know from what or whom?

He forced himself to meet the headmaster's gaze. Those blue, blue eyes, as deep and endless as the sky. You could get lost in those eyes, float off like a serene cloud across the heavens or maybe drift into isolation in the great outer void where no one would hear you break. It was almost tempting.

"I'm sorry."

Severus could hear the sincerity in that voice, see the regret. He couldn't look at him any longer.

"Stop it. Just stop it," he muttered, fixing his eye on the sharp-cornered desk. The light bounced off the silver instruments that topped it and was absorbed by the dull wood. "That's past and gone. I don't want to talk about it anymore. What good will all your sympathy be if He kills me because we wasted time on this instead of occlusion?" He recognised the truth of his words though he'd said them as a diversion.

"If only it were that easy to dismiss the events that shape us," the headmaster mused. "Will you ever learn to occlude them if they hurt too much to bandage? I thought it was the Shrieking Shack that turned you, but that was only the last incident, not the pivotal one."

Severus glowered and didn't answer. The dispassionate assessment hurt more than it should. He knew he was no more to the man than a failed responsibility. He'd always known but still he ached at the confirmation.

Dumbledore tried a different tack.

"What made them stop? What happened next?"

The boy disappeared behind his hair again.

"They went to lunch. And I didn't." He'd watched them leave then grabbed his wand from one direction and his underwear from another, pulled on the latter with shivering haste and slunk off to the other side of the lake.

"No, you didn't, did you?" A shrewd gaze scanned him. "I don't remember any incidents in the Hall." Mealtimes were almost the only point of contact the headmaster had with students barring severe misbehaviour. "In fact now I come to think of it I don't remember seeing you there at all in that last week. Not even at the Leaving Feast." A wrinkled hand covered the old face for one dismayed moment. A student missing from several consecutive mealtimes should have prompted investigation.

Severus scowled and shrugged off the man's concern.

"There's food enough on the grounds if you know what's safe to eat."

'Is there? So early in the summer?"

"Raspberries and strawberries are ripe enough. And there are mushrooms and herbs." Mostly on the edge of the Forbidden Forest or slightly inside it. Hoping the headmaster wouldn't pick up on that point, he rushed on, "Around the other side of the lake was a whole hedge of Sweet Cicely."

He'd been too miserable to eat then, but had crawled back later after the practical exam to chew on the large anise-smelling leaves with their sugar-sprinkled taste. He hadn't been able to eat licorice since, it made him sick now.

"So you didn't face them again that year?"

He reddened and hung his head. It sounded cowardly put like that.

"Not even on the train home?" the man pursued.

"I locked myself in the toilets and secured it with a Do-not-notice." Severus's voice was sullen. Couldn't the man leave well enough alone? By the time sixth year began, the whole thing had been – not forgotten, but not in the forefront. He'd only had to avoid being out of a teacher's eye amongst groups too large to hex or anywhere near the Marauders. He glowered again at the man's steady regard.

"I forgive you, all right?" he snapped. That was a lie, of course, but he hoped it would end the discussion. "Now can we move on with the lesson so I can still be alive after the next Meeting?"

"I can't just forget this happened. I have to speak to them."

"You can't. It would blow my cover if anyone wondered how you found out. Justice is a luxury I can't afford." Nothing new in that anyway. Justice was for Gryffindors; he'd just be satisfied with being unnoticed.

"Very well. We'll try again. Blank and calm, let it all go."

This time he added four names to his mental parchment, Potty, Blackheart, Loopy and Pettyglue. He watched them wash away into nothing along with every pang and pain they'd ever made him feel. It still wasn't enough.

**A/N This went in a rather unexpected direction. Next chapter will continue with Occlumency lessons.**


	7. Wrong Either Way

WRONG EITHER WAY

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.**

**A/N: Spoilers, knowledge assumed. ****Thanks to all my reviewers, especially Tabari Avaren and Bellegeste, whose thoughtful comments sparked a re-write.**

**Sorry for the long delay, I was juggling too many stories to choose which chapter to work on when, and then I thought I'd wait till HBP came out. You can guess how that worked out - but I've returned at last.**

"We have heard much of your proficiency, young Snape," the Dark Lord's high, cold voice commanded. "Show us what you're made of."

Severus was standing again in a ring of Death Eaters watching a quivering, gasping hulk that had once been a young man scant years older than himself. This time, as he cast "Pulmonaris glacis" and watched that chest explode with shards of glass and great gouts of blood, as his own thin chest filled with mingled pride and revulsion, he thought, "That's my future."

_Again? This time?_

With that thought, the men and the darkness and the bleeding wreck on the ground faded away and he found himself staring into wise, blue eyes in a sad, wrinkled face. Occlumency, he was in the headmaster's office learning Occlumency. After three days of practice, he was getting better at closing his mind to the man's invasion but never till now had he fallen so deeply into a memory that he lost himself in it.

That incident had marked both the start and the mental end of his Death Eater life. His first meeting after joining, and the last he had looked forward to. Severus panted for breath and shame and forgetfulness.

"I did that for Him," he gasped. _For my Master, the Dark Lord_. "Next time I'll be doing it for you."

"Severus -"

"That's what it means, doesn't it?'" he pressed, his voice rising. "I've to go back and be what I was, do what I did, all in your service, all at your command."

He stared at the old man. 'I knew that,' he thought, 'it was implicit in your offer. Why does it come as a shock?' A soft mouth framed by silver beard tightened with understanding sympathy. Blue eyes met black still, with steady command.

"You've to go back and do what's necessary to survive, but you will not be what you were. You don't share their hate or their joy in hurting. Every victim will be your secret brother, your partner in ending this horror."

"But they'll still be just as dead. It will still be my hand that speeds them."

"Yes."

The boy gulped, black eyes wide and wary. Just "yes"? No argument, no side-stepping?

"Are men tools to you? Are you just like Him?" he spat.

"Am I?" Dumbledore's voice was calm, though not untroubled.

"Yes. No. I don't know." Long, pale fingers clenched around his wand, at once weapon and comfort, the only thing apart from himself that he knew he could rely on.

"Don't you?" the headmaster asked softly.

Severus bit the inside of his cheek as his eyes turned from portrait to portrait of previous headmasters, sneering or sleeping or shaking their heads irritably at him. None of them answered for him. His gaze returned to the current holder. Why couldn't the man give him a straight answer? How was he supposed to know?

But that was part of the answer, wasn't it? Dumbledore reflected his question back to him to find his own solution whereas the Dark Lord would kill him for asking it.

He shook his head. It wasn't enough. Dumbledore might grant his followers a measure of mental autonomy that the Dark Lord denied, but they were playing the same game. Just so might a wizard's chesspiece be free to smash or stab the piece it took, but not to choose the move.

In any case, wasn't this gift of free thought merely a ruse for the man to abdicate responsibility for actions done in his name? As a spy, Severus would continually face tough decisions: follow and fulfil the Dark Lord's orders as given, fail Him and face punishment, or perhaps fight to set certain victims free. To follow was to kill and torture at command. In that case, why have risked his life and betrayed his friends? To fail the Dark Lord too often was to die soon and screaming. His Master had little tolerance for incompetence and none for disobedience. And to fight was to end his usefulness and his life at once. Yet if a prisoner was vital to Dumbledore's cause and he didn't fight? Was he to keep himself and his spy mission alive at the cost of letting the whole enterprise fall?

How could he know, alone and unguided, which choice was right, he who'd never been taught right from wrong? When had he ever made a right decision in his life? And every wrong one would bury him deeper.

He shrugged and shook his head slowly, black eyes narrowed and forehead creased.

"I can't see much difference," he admitted. "From now on I'll be killing in your service instead of his. You won't kill me or torture me if I fail, not by your own hand and not for pleasure, but you don't need to, do you? Azkaban or Death Eaters will do it for you."

"In my service?" the headmaster probed. "Do you think me a rival Lord, fighting to rule the world for my convenience?"

"He says there's no right or wrong only power and those too weak to seek it," Severus argued. "You say you're fighting for Right to win. But if your way is right and other ways are wrong, then you're fighting for yourself, aren't you? You and the Gryffindors are always right by definition. In every dispute I've ever had, you've ruled against me."

The old, wrinkled brow creased into deeper wrinkles, but the headmaster said nothing.

"And I'm outside, looking at both of you, and I'm wrong either way. I'm too weak to wish to use my power against people unless I've seen them wrong me and I can't be a Gryffindor." He shrugged and screwed up his face. "I don't even want to be. They're just as full of hate as what they claim to be fighting against."

There were mutterings of agreement and argument from some of the portraits, but they faded when Dumbledore held up his hand for silence. He nodded and sighed.

"Yet you came to me of your own choice. Why, if I've wronged you so much? And I do agree that I have."

"I don't know that either," the boy shrugged, staring at the floor.

He watched a Queen bumblebee crawling across the carpet, yellow-banded and buff-tailed with two pairs of transparent wings. It should have been hibernating outside somewhere in a hollow log. Perhaps it had been brought in with the firewood and the warmth of the room had woken it. It seemed as out of place in that office as he was. It shouldn't have woken. Now it would never survive till Spring.

"It seems you feel there is a right and wrong, even if you can't explain what it is. The human mind is a wonderful thing. It can comprehend the whole without understanding the parts; indeed it often grasps the whole easier than the parts," Dumbledore mused.

The bee was quite near the boy's foot. He could crush it with one step. 'Why not,' he thought? It was just an insect, albeit a potential mother of hundreds of plant pollinators. For that matter, its wings could be used in three different types of healing potions. Regardless, what did it matter whether he killed it or harvested it or let it crawl away to die untouched? What did it matter whether one or one thousand crawled by? What difference whether they were welcomed bees or unwelcomed flies? And if bees didn't matter, why did people?

"Meaning comes before structure in our understanding," the old man continued. "Language came before the alphabet. First men spoke, then they analysed the building blocks of sound that made their words. In the same way, you know instinctively that you can't be a loyal Death Eater, your heart tells you it's wrong. Each choice you make is the building block of your personal code of ethics. Looking back at your choices will help you understand why you made them."

Black eyes lifted behind greasy, concealing wings of hair. Thin lips folded, then opened in a resentful huff.

"I can't make the right choices. I don't know how!" Severus burst out.

"You've begun already. You know that you don't want to act in blind hate. You know that you don't want to hurt people you don't know." Dumbledore watched his listener's eyes widen and his brow smooth over. "You know that there are right choices and it seems that you mostly trust me to know what they are and to make them."

He emphasised the word "mostly". His returning twinkle was briefly reflected in the boy's shy, dark eyes.

"Let that guide you," Dumbledore continued. "You'll make mistakes still, no doubt about it, but you'll learn from them too. You'll have to, because I can't be there with you and I can't anticipate every situation you'll face. And sometimes there are no right choices, only lesser and greater degrees of wrong."

"How can it be right to kill or torture for you when it's not right to do it for him? Do you think you'll be any less tainted, just because you don't see my actions or because you don't say the words yourself?" the boy spat.

"You are my agent," the headmaster replied. "I share the responsibility to avoid what we can and accept what we must – and try to stay on the lighter shade of grey. After every meeting, you'll show me everything; together we'll try to understand where that lighter shade is."

Severus wrapped his arms around his chest and returned to contemplating the carpet. The bee was still crawling, but it was out of reach of a casual step or even a stretch. Only a deliberate move would crush it now. He'd been as heedless as that bee before he came to this room with his confession. How sad and pointless it would have been to die so stupid, with so much unthought and unasked. Let it go on its way and let himself continue on the way he'd chosen. Maybe one day, he'd understand where he was going.

**A/N: There's no indication that wizards follow any particular religion so religious teachings are presumably not available to them as a moral/ethical resource. At first glance Dumbledore's comments may seem inimical to Jewish tradition that the Alefbet (Hebrew alphabet) was the mechanism of creation and possibly also to the Gospel verses, "In the beginning was the word…" but his explanation deals specifically with human comprehension.**

**Teaser:** **His first performance. And probably his easiest. Any incoherence in his story could be blamed on having just woken up from a week's delirium. If only that were true...**


	8. Exploding bonbons

EXPLODING BONBONS

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.**

**Thanks to my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle. **

"What'd they do to you this time?" Evan said as he dropped into a chair and let his heavy bag fall with a whumpf.

Severus opened his eyes and stared at the Infirmary ceiling. He could hear the rustle of a Honeydukes bag being opened and then the faint hiss and bang of an exploding bonbon. Shreds of paper shot up and slowly floated down. He brushed them out of his eyes. His first performance. And probably his easiest. Any incoherence in his story could be blamed on having just woken up from a week's delirium. If only that were true.

"Wasn't them," he said. Blaming the Gryffindors was the obvious excuse, but that didn't make it a good one. Better to use one that couldn't be proven a lie; one never knew whom the Dark Lord might choose to interrogate and what he might ask. "I got bitten by a Dormis beetle it was too dark to see."

Evan unwrapped a couple of bonbons and popped them in his mouth.

"Uh-huh. And why were you in the Forest after dark, anyhow? Thought you knew better than that?"

"I do." Severus scowled convincingly at the funny-shaped crack above the next bed. It looked too much like a man with a sword in his back. He swallowed hard and set his teeth against the surging truth. This was his oldest friend. One day, his word would kill him. They were on opposite sides now.

"Well, then?"

"None of your business! Unless – Who wants to know?" The Dark Lord couldn't know already, could he? One of them was probably reporting on the others. He wondered who.

"Who d'you think?"

_Ssss. _Another bang! He unclenched the fist he hadn't realised he'd made. Evan's voice was too unconcerned to be a warning. A hand snaked over to dangle the lolly bag over his face.

"Want one?" Evan asked.

"Not in my face, you great prat!" Severus pushed it away one-handed and turned to remonstrate. Their eyes met and for a moment he held his breath, wandering if his friend could see his betrayal. Apparently not.

"You gonna tell me or what?" Evan slouched backwards, his eyes returning to the bag he was gently jiggling. One of the bonbons was beginning to vibrate. He whisked it out and sent it sailing towards Filch's second-best slop bucket, left behind in his hurry to catch whoever had been levitating statues to crash together on the next floor down. There was a plop, a sizzle, a fizzle and a phtt. His mouth turned down.

Severus took a long breath and let it out in a sigh. It wouldn't be the first time he'd lied. It certainly wouldn't be the last. This was one of the easy ones; later, the tales would get harder to spin.

"I was looking for a red squirrel drey –"

"A what?"

"It's a nest red squirrels live in," Severus muttered.

"So?"

"If you wouldn't keep interrupting! We were going to brew Scintillation Solution this week. Dried red squirrel droppings in Potter's cauldron would have made his hair fall out."

He let his mouth droop and his eyes narrow. His disappointment wasn't all an act. He'd thought of that very prank as long as three years ago, the first time he'd leafed through the seventh year textbook. It had been a favourite daydream ever since, something to toy with whenever the Gryffs managed to catch him out. Or rather, it had been until they'd tried to kill him a year ago. After that, it had seemed entirely too flimsy. Now he wished he could go back to those simpler days.

He cast a quick, sideways glance and continued.

"He wouldn't have had to drink it, just leaning over to stir like he does –" If he hadn't been dithering over turning himself in, he'd have felt tempted to fulfil that old dream. As it was, he'd decided it was hardly worth the effort.

Evan's mouth fell open, revealing an unlovely mess of half-chewed bonbons. He gulped them down, then gave a shout of laughter.

"For how long?"

"Not long enough to get expelled for. But he was planning to meet the Mudblood's parents this hols." Evans, his unwilling Potions partner for the last two years, assigned together by Professor Slughorn. She wasn't so bad, but for being Potter's girlfriend. At any rate, she tried to get Potter to leave him alone.He forced a laugh and added, "I heard them talking. He'd have had to meet them bald."

And she'd have been furious. He'd worked out how to do it unseen, but she'd have known, of course. Nobody else was keen enough on Potions to have heard of that rare combination but themselves and old Sluggy. Once she stopped yelling, she'd probably never have spoken to him again. 'Not that I care,' he told himself fiercely. But that was a lie. Sometimes he thought that if he'd been able to stop calling her Mudblood outside of class, maybe they'd even have been friends, but that had never been an option. A half-blood had to act purer than pure to stand a chance in Slytherin. Besides, any friend of Potter's could never be a friend of his.

Evan shook his head, his thin frame still shaking with mirth.

"Wow, how long had you been planning that one?"

Severus shrugged.

"Long enough."

Another bonbon in the bag began to sizzle. Evan fished it out and punted it into Filch's bucket. Plop, sizzle,splash! A fountain of water shot up and cascaded messily over the floor.

"Score!" He pumped his hand high, then grimaced and sighed.What a prank that would have been! "Pity you've missed your chance."

Yes. It was.

**A/N Exploding bonbons and Scintillation Solution are canon. Dormis beetles and red squirrels in the Forest are not - but the squirrels are probably there.**


	9. DealBreaker

**Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.**

**Thanks to all my reviewers and sorry for the long delay. **

**The story so far:  
Severus turned himself in to Dumbledore in seventh year, shortly before Xmas holidays, and was recruited to spy on the other Death Eaters. Dumbledore covered his absence for interrogation and intensive Occlumency training by faking a Dormis beetle attack that left his "body" unable to be examined closely enough for Pomfrey to detect the fraud. Upon "regaining consciousness", he told his friends he'd been trying to collect squirrel-poo to spike Potter's potion.**

Lily Evans was waiting for him in the Potions classroom. She always was.

"Heard you got out today," she said. "You all right?"

He shrugged and pushed his way past her. No doubt she'd be full of questions, but that didn't mean he had to answer.

"Why were you in the Forest anyhow?" she persisted, as he dumped his bag next to hers under the desk. "Was it something to do with James?"

"Not everything has to do with flipping Potter, Evans."

He flung himself into the chair and studied the wood-grain of the desk. It was part of a deal he'd scrupulously observed since their second day of Potions partnership that he wouldn't swear at her in class and she'd overlook what he called her outside class. He glowered at the door as more students sauntered through it.

"Not everything," she agreed. "Sometimes it's about Sirius."

He turned his glower on her and her green eyes and her red hair and her knowing smile.

"Was it another prank?" she murmured, opening her Potions book and pretending to be absorbed in it.

That was another part of the deal: she'd be discreet about talking to him and he wouldn't ignore her when she spoke.

"Isn't it always, where they're concerned?" he said sourly.

"Not this year. James has changed since becoming Head Boy. He's grown up."

The Gryffindor gits came in then, followed closely by Slughorn, and the lesson started. They were preparing the base for Eckhart's Elixir today. It needed to sit for three weeks before distillation, which would take them neatly into spring term.

"I asked James." She glanced sidelong at him, as she ground the cockroaches into fine powder. "He said it had nothing to do with him that he knew of."

He stirred five times clockwise, added the first pinch of lovage and stirred again.

"And you're so confident he's telling the truth, you need my confirmation?" he sniped.

I'm just trying to make out why you'd do something so stupid as go in the forest at night," she said. "It's not called Forbidden for nothing."

Her eyes saw too much. He looked at her hands instead, small, blunt but amazingly capable hands, and swallowed hard. He dreamed of her hands sometimes.

"Yes, I imagine it's full of werewolves," he said in as bored a voice as he could manage. He was almost sure she knew about Lupin, but she'd never said and he'd sworn not to. "But it wasn't full moon so I was perfectly safe." _Perfectly safe? He'd never be perfectly safe again._

"Safe? You idiot!" She banged the pestle a little too hard against the mortar and half a roach leg fluttered up and down again. She bit her lip and moderated her arm movements. "Bitten by a Dormis beetle isn't safe. How long were you lying unconscious till you were found? _Anything_ could have eaten you."

"Not werewolves," he said, throwing in another pinch of lovage and stirring. "Told you, it wasn't full moon."

"Idiot!" she said again. "There are Acromantulas, you know!"

He didn't know, actually, but he didn't doubt the accuracy of her information. Not when her boyfriend went roaming every month.

"Pity they don't eat Potter then. He goes in more often than I do." Maybe not more often, but definitely deeper.

"Look, can you stop rabbiting on about James?" Lily grumbled, putting down mortar and pestle with exaggerated care. She eyed the potion with suspicion. "Try a half-stir anti-clockwise on every fifth stir from now on. It's too pink."

"It's purple enough," he said, adding the last pinch. "You're the one who keeps bringing him into the conversation. _I _don't want to talk about him."

"I just want to know what's going on."

He snorted. _No, you don't. You really don't._

She narrowed her eyes at the potion. The colour had deepened to a rather virulent shade of magenta.

Adding the cockroach powder in a thin, steady stream, she said lightly, "It's very suspicious, you know, this determined silence. You're not normally backward about blaming James. If it wasn't him playing a prank on you, was it you trying to play a prank on him?"

Evans was the one (kind-of-sort-of-almost-not-quite-a) friend that he wasn't betraying by spying for Dumbledore. It would have been nice to still be able to talk to her sometimes. Not about what he was doing, of course, never that, but Charms and Potions and N.E.W.T.s and neutral topics like that. But it wouldn't do. She wasn't in any more danger from his spying than she had been from his Death Eating, but it wouldn't do.

Anyway, she was Potter's girlfriend. That wasn't going to change. Not now.

"And if it was?" he said slowly. "If I was looking for red squirrel droppings to drop in his potion last week?"

The third part of their deal was that they wouldn't prank each other. Turning Potter bald wouldn't have been a prank on her, back when they'd brokered their deal and she'd hated the git. It still wasn't, when the git became her boyfriend. But he supposed that turning the git bald just before she took him home to meet her family might fairly be called so.

He hadn't done it, in the end, hadn't wanted to. He wondered now whether that had been as much because it had become a deal-breaker as because depilating Potter had seemed altogether too flimsy a revenge on the gang that had tried to kill him. Funny the things he was learning about himself, wasn't it?

She was staring at him now, the potion forgotten. He noticed mechanically that it needed to cool and he put out the flame.

"You didn't! You wouldn't!"

No, he didn't. But she didn't know that and, if he had his way, she never would.

Really, it was better this way.

**A/N Eckhart's Elixir is not canon. Lovage and cockroach parts are.**

**Although we don't see Harry's class working in partnerships in sixth year Potions, I've chosen to assume that there are some potions on the curriculum that require more than two hands and this is one of them.**


End file.
